


Wanted

by kittyhazelnut



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-15
Updated: 2019-10-15
Packaged: 2020-12-17 02:04:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 33
Words: 21,272
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21046514
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kittyhazelnut/pseuds/kittyhazelnut
Summary: The Bloody Valentine has been terrorizing the streets for years.  Despite all their hard work, the FBI hasn't seen heads or tales of him. Despite never meeting, that doesn't stop Dean Winchester from dropping notes in the blood of his victims to whatever poor soul had the misfortune of being assigned his case. Next to murder, teasing them is his favorite pastime.But his feelings change when he meets Castiel Novak, the agent looking for him, and he realizes he may not hate the human race quite as much as he thought.





	1. Chapter 1

This has to be a joke. 

"It's been a long five years, but recently, we've gotten closer to catching him than ever before. We can't give a timeframe for when we hope to have him by, but rest assured, we will get the Bloody Valentine off the streets as soon as possible."

Dean shakes his head, exiting out of the public library's browser with a frown. Those little fucking liars. The FBI are nowhere near catching him. By the time they pick up on one of his crime scenes, he's already two states over. They don't have his name, face, or pattern, and they're gonna claim they're closer than ever? Fucking bullshit. 

He leaves the computer behind without a second thought. If Michael Novak, the head of the FBI, has anything else to say, it'll show up front page in every newspaper across the country. He can buy a copy when he stumbles across one — and he better stumble across one. God knows he has a plan for it. Those sons of bitches better think twice before telling the world that the Bloody Valentine's reign is coming to an end, because it's been five years since his first murder and he's just getting started. 

~~

Sure enough, Dean finds it in the paper the next morning, as he stopped at a local gas station for a cheap breakfast pie. He plops a copy on the counter without hesitation, muttering a quiet, "This, too, please."

It's a fair inexpensive purchase. The money he stole from his last kill was more than enough to pay for it, plus the bus fair he'll need to get out of this town before the feds show up. 

Although if the article from his paper is exclusive to this city's paper, maybe he should rethink that.

He'll take the easy way out. One more kill, just to make a statement, then he'll ditch town. Of course, that won't be until he leaves the feds a nice little letter written in his favorite ink — the victim's blood. He's sure it'll mess with their tiny brains, seeing him kill twice in one town, but they really forced his hand on this one. There are very few things he considers unforgivable, and defamation is one of them. 

So that's what he does. He hits up a grocery store, grabbing a single pie just so he doesn't seem out of place, then takes the city bus to the first stop it brings him to. The only other people to get off there are an old couple, each holding a single bag for their walk home. 

This is just too fucking easy. 

He stalks them at a distance, staying almost out of their site until he sees them tuck themselves safely into their little home in a crowded neighborhood. What better way to attract some attention to his message then murdering an old couple on a busy street? 

So that's what he does. 

Most people don't understand it. They hear someone killed an old lady, they see a monster. They don't understand that it's the least damage he could do. Two retired citizens living off government money with only a decade left to live? How is that worse than killing a 30-something-year-old in their prime, as a functioning member of society?

But people hate when he kills old people, almost as much as they do when he kills kids, so he does it anyway. And understanding that this is the most merciful age group to kill doesn't make their screams and pleas any less pleasant. 

He stabs the man in the chin and up through the skull. The woman, he has more important plans for, so he slices her stomach open instead. 

Dean tapes the newspaper clippings to the wall, carefully ripped out so as not to cut off anything important. He dips a finger in the dead woman's blood and crosses a red line through the worst line in the article — "We've gotten closer to catching him than ever before." He knows that will catch their eye. 

He dips the toothpick in the blood, which he knows he'll have to do a few times as he writes, "Aw, how cute. You want people to think you actually know how to do your job." He dips a finger in the blood for his signature — a bloody heart, followed by the letters "B. V." The Bloody Valentine strikes again. 

But then he hears the sirens, and begins to think that maybe they weren't as wrong as he thought. 

He sprints to the front door, peeking through a window so discreetly, he's almost positive no one can see him. But when he sees five cop cars pulling up behind a sweet black ride, he knows he needs to go. The last thing he sees before jumping out a back window is the man in the tan trench coat slamming the front door open and sprinting to the house. 

Well, shit.


	2. Chapter 2

That night, Dean can't sleep. He just keeps thinking of that man, the first real face he's every connected to his enemy — the FBI. He must admit, he didn't expect it to be such a pretty face. 

During his long bus ride to his next destination, he does a lot of thinking. He doesn't have many options. He isn't letting them catch him. He isn't giving them a chance. He's not sure how they found him, but if they did before, they can again. The only way to stay safe is to stay low. No murdering for another week or so, just to be safe. 

Once again, Dean grabs a copy of the local newspaper. The article is hidden in the middle this time, but he still gets the screen time he deserves. He doesn't read the article until he's found a nice comfortable park bench to sit on, so he can really bask in the glory. 

What he gathers is the press know very little other than the bodies were still warm when they got there, the one detail Dean was hoping they would leave out. He really doesn't need people to know he got sloppy. There's a reason he always has one kill per city, and that would be it. 

And maybe he should rethink killing people in crowded neighborhoods. Apparently, the neighbors heard the screams, and with the feds in the area, it was easy to track it down. 

This is the nice thing about murder. Five years and he still leans something new every time. 

Still, there's no mention of who was at the crime scene, and that would be Dean's biggest question. It looks like it's time to hit up the local library. 

~~

Castiel Novak.

No fucking way.

Dean didn't even know the head of the FBI had a brother, and he sure as hell didn't think they would put him in charge of this case. One would think that a high profile case such as himself would have an agent on it chosen for ability, not relationships with superiors. 

Except, Dean slowly realizes, this Castiel has been on his case since the beginning. In fact, that all he can find on him. Castiel's been following him since the first few murder victims, long before Michael picked up his position. And a soon after Michael got the promotion, Castiel's name seemed to disappear. It's almost as if they don't want anyone to know it's him on the case, though whether that's due to Michael's position or Castiel's, Dean has no way of knowing. 

What he does know, though, is those photos of Castiel three of four years ago look just as good as he did the day before. 

Hot damn.

And he can use this. They tried to wipe Castiel's name and face from the books. Maybe it's time for him to remind them that they're not dealing with an amateur. They can only keep a man hidden for so long.


	3. Chapter 3

Castiel hits every corner of the country that next week. He's always sent to check out cases that seem to be the work of everyone's favorite serial killer. Unfortunately, with the Bloody Valentine's infamy comes a lot of copycats, and Castiel has always been good at figuring out if it's the real deal or not.

None of these were.

Which makes walking into his ninth crime scene in seven days incredibly exhausting, and he's already prepared to tell them that the Bloody Valentine decided to take a vacation after their close encounter.

But writing messages with bloody toothpicks is one detail that never made the press, and the message is unmistakably his.

"I take it back. Gold star for you. Unfortunately, you didn't surround the house quickly enough, and breaking a back window is far too easy. But hey, you can't catch 'em all. I have to admit, though. If someone does find me, I do hope it's you, Castiel. You've earned it.

Castiel feels the blood drain from his face. The Bloody Valentine knows his name. That was never part of the plan. This is about as far from the plan as one could get. This is bad. This is really, really bad.

"Michael's not gonna be happy about this," his partner, Hannah, murmurs.

"Michael's not gonna find out," Castiel says, surprising both Hannah and himself. Michael likes to know as much about the bureau as he can, but he's made it very clear that Castiel is supposed to tell him everything. And usually, he wouldn't think twice.

"He has to," Hannah insists. "He's our superior."

"Yeah, and he's my brother," Castiel reminds her. "He sees this, he's gonna pull me from the case before he even knows whether it'll affect anything."

"So? Maybe he should," Hannah says. "He knows you. He knows your name, and he probably knows your face. This is the first note he's ever addressed to anyone —"

"Exactly," Castiel interrupts. "The first, and probably the last. It shook him up when we almost caught him; we were closer than ever before. He just wanted to shake us up right back. That's it."

"And if it's not?"

"Doesn't matter," he says. "I know this case inside and out. I'm the only one who's been following it since the beginning. There's no one out there who could do half as good a job as I do — as we do. I'm not letting Michael take that away because the guy dropped my name."

"He's going to find out eventually," Hannah warns him.

"I don't care," Castiel says. "As long as it's after we caught the guy, or we've proved that nothing's changed."

"Michael's not gonna be happy."

"And the families of the next murder victims aren't gonna be happy, either," Castiel says. "Right now, that's where my priorities lie. If you can't say the same, maybe it's time I get a new partner."

Hannah sighs. "Fine. Michael doesn't have to know. But if it happens again, we're telling him."

Castiel crosses his arms, but he doesn't argue. He knows Hannah just wants what's best for him. Michael's the same way. But right now, he should be the last of their concerns.

It's time to catch a serial killer.


	4. Chapter 4

The new press release isn't very interesting. There's no mention of this Castiel guy at all. It's disappointing, to say the least. They do mention that they were close, and that soon, they'll get there just a little bit quicker and grab him, but that's about it. 

If Michael's worried about Dean name-dropping his secret brother, he does a good job hiding it. Michael seems as cool and composed as always, delivering his statements as fact with very little emotion. 

God, how Dean would like to fuck up that cool facade he has going on. He can only keep calm through so much, and if Castiel's not his breaking point, Dean isn't sure what could be. 

Maybe he just needs to keep this up a little longer. 

So for Dean's next murder — a sweet-looking young couple with a baby on the way — he writes another note on the wall.

"I'm disappointed, Castiel. You're interesting. I was really hoping I could lure you into the spotlight."

Dean pauses, looking it over. That won't work. It just looks like he tried, he failed, and he gave up. Since he won't be taking follow-up questions, he needs to make this as clear as possible. 

"Maybe I'll see you this time. Say hi to the cameras for me."

He rereads it again. That's better. It comes off as less disappointed now. He doesn't want them to think he's a quitter. It's bad enough that they're keeping all his hard work out of the papers, between his research and writing in toothpicks and blood. 

Actually…

"I think it's about time you told them what's going on. It's not nice, leaving out all the details. You never know who's is gonna go next. Don't they deserve to know who they're dealing with?"

Now it's perfect. He complained that Castiel wasn't in the press release, and asked them to up his reputation as the biggest badass in history, all in one note. He signs the wall in his signature bloody heart and B. V. initials, as is customary. He doesn't write a lot of notes with his kills, but he always has his signature. It's not a Bloody Valentine murder without it. 

Dean washes the blood off his hands, sheds his bloody flannel to reveal a clean one underneath, then takes a few minutes to loot the house. He doesn't find much more than a hundred bucks, but he snags a couple extra flannels from the dad-to-never-be's closet. 

Now to wait for the next press release.


	5. Chapter 5

Michael slams his hand down on the desk. "I had one rule!"

"I know, but —"

"I'm not done," Michael snaps. 

Castiel looks at Hannah helplessly. He's glad there isn't a big crowd, and if there's one person he'd want for moral support, it would be her. Unfortunately, she's too nervous to even talk in Michael's presence, so she really won't help lessen the blow. 

"I let you keep this case on one condition, and it was that you tell me everything," Michael says. "The fact that I had to learn that this guy said your name twice through the grapevine instead of from you is unacceptable."

"With all due respect," Castiel says, but Michael cuts him off. 

"Stop it. Sucking up to me is not going to make me change my mind."

"Change your mind on what?" Castiel asks, hoping his guess is wrong. 

"I'm making you drop this case."

"You can't do that —"

"I can do whatever I want," Michael interrupts. "You disobeyed orders —"

"And what would you have done if I told you?" Castiel challenges. "You can pretend you're just mad that I never told you, but you and I both know you would've pulled me the second he said my name."

"So you decided to lie —"

"Yes, I decided to lie!" Castiel snaps. "This is my case, Michael. I'm not letting you take it from me over something so fucking stupid. There's no reason you should be able to take it from me over something so stupid."

"Maybe I shouldn't be able to, but I can, and I am."

Castiel scoffs. "This is the very definition of abuse of power."

"If abusing my power is going to keep you safe, I don't care."

"I can keep myself safe," Castiel reminds him. "I've been doing it a long time."

"I don't care," Michael says. "I've made my decision. Castiel, you're officially off the case. I'll find you something else to do tomorrow. Hannah, you can either stay with your partner or your case."

That's the first time anyone's acknowledged her, and she seems to be at a loss for words. Whether it's the situation or just Michael's presence, Castiel isn't sure, but he knows what he has to do. 

"Keep her on the case," Castiel says. "She's the only one who knows anywhere near as much about it. You get rid of her, you're basically starting fresh."

Michael nods. "Then it's settled. Castiel, you're to stay as far away from the Bloody Valentine case as possible."


	6. Chapter 6

We've put a new agent on the case. 

A new agent. 

New. 

Does he mean in addition to Castiel, or replacing him? Or replacing his partner or someone else on the case? Or does he not mean it at all, and he's trying to throw him off? He asked for Castiel at the press release, and suddenly it seems possible that Castiel's gone entirely? That can't be a coincidence. Michael's a liar; Dean's known that for a long time. But is this one of his lies?

He has too many questions. What exactly is going on? Who's this supposed new guy? What's he doing? What's going to change? Is Castiel still around? How's he supposed to figure this shit out if Michael won't fucking talk to him — talk to anyone? 

He'll just have to take matters into his item hands. 

~~

"Cas, call me. 605-555-1967."

And now, he waits for his bloody booty call to go through. 

~~

When Dean's new burner phone rings almost a day later, words cannot explain how excited he was. He's been sitting at the local airport since he bought the phone, just waiting for this moment. He answers it without a moment of hesitation. 

"Hi." Is that how a normal person answers a normal phone call? This is a little too important to act normal. He's thrilled to finally get to talk to this guy.

"Is this the —"

"You're not Castiel," Dean interrupts, his hopes dashed. What the fuck is this?

"What?"

"This isn't Castiel," Dean says. "I recognize the voice. Call me when you have Castiel on the phone."

With that, Dean hangs up, fighting back a sigh. Well, this fucking sucks. It looks like it's time to get the hell out of dodge before they track his location. Maybe he should get a new burner phone while he's at it, just in case they can track his. Well, fuck.


	7. Chapter 7

"We have a problem."

Castiel looks up from his desk to glare at good brother. "And what would that be?"

Michael sighs. "Stop looking at me like that."

"Put me back on the case and I will."

Michael shakes his head at him, annoyed. "What if I just gave you an update and asked for a favor, instead?"

Castiel cocks his head to the side, interested. "What's going on?"

"There have been two more crime scenes this week," Michael says. "Each with a message on the wall."

"What did he say?" Castiel asks. "I'm assuming that's why you're here?"

"He asked for you."

Castiel raises an eyebrow. "Okay, and? That's four crime scenes in a row that he asked for me. You can't say it still shocks you."

"No, I mean he asked to talk to you," Michael says. "Person to person, over the phone."

Castiel scoffs, a grin creeping up on his face. "Well, that's great! I can talk to him, trace the call, and catch him."

"Well, I'm not too sure about that," Michael says. "The first time he asked for you, I called him instead. He was at an airport. By the time we got there, he was long gone."

"Well, what about the phone now?" Castiel asks. "Where is it?"

"We found it in the trash by the airport door," Michael says. "The prints matched every other pair we've found so far. They just haven't been matched to a name."

Castiel nods slowly, processing this. This guy is smart. It's impossible to deny it. Any rookie mistakes he used to make are long gone. But there's no such thing as the perfect crime. Castiel will catch him. He just has to figure out how he thinks, because this isn't his normal. Not at all. 

But Castiel knows what is his normal, and maybe that's what they need. 

"When you called him, how long ago was it after the murder?"

"Almost a day," Michael says. "Not long after we found it. Why?"

"Where was the crime scene?"

"Sioux Falls, South Dakota," Michael says, confused. 

"And where did you track the phone to?" Castiel asks. 

"Same place, the local airport a few minutes away."

Castiel nods. "That's it. That's the problem. He had already killed there. He wasn't gonna strike again, not when he knows you were on his trail."

"Well, what do you want to do?" Michael asks. "We can't track him in advance."

"But you can get to him when he makes it to his new destination," Castiel says. "Give it a few days — I'd say three, probably. If he was at the airport, he was waiting for you. He gave you the number, right?"

Michael nods. "Just that and 'Cas, call me.'"

"He wouldn't give you his number — a huge first for him — and then take a plane, where there's no reception. He wanted you to think he was going somewhere, but he wasn't. Not when he didn't know when you'd call and when to book his flight to get away."

"Well, he's not still there," Michael says. "He struck again, down in Texas."

"Wait, back up," Castiel says. "You called him, right? What did he say?"

"Nothing," Michael says. "He knew it wasn't you, so he hung up. Wouldn't pick up when I called back."

"How did he…?"

"He said he 'recognized the voice,'" Michael says, putting air quotes around the latter half of the sentence. "Which means he would know if it wasn't you."

"Well, it doesn't matter now," Castiel says. "He ditched the phone."

"And then he got a new one."

Castiel scoffs. "He did what?"

Michael nods. "Said it was our last chance. Take a look."

Michael slides a photo across the desk. Castiel picks it up, recognizing it immediately as a crime scene. He looks around first, taking it in, before reading the note.

"Come on, Cas. I know you're there. I saw you a couple weeks ago. I'll try this one more time, and if it's not you, I'm done trying to reach you. Good luck finding me like that."

All Castiel can think to say is, "Wow."

"Mm," Michael hums. 

"So, what, want me to make the call?" Castiel asks. 

Michael nods. "It'll be on speaker the whole time. You try to get him to talk, we'll take it from there."

"So I'm still not on the case?" Castiel asks. "Even after he asked for me, after you decided you need me here —"

"We need you for five minutes," Michael interrupts. "After that, you're out."

"But —"

"Don't you dare finish that sentence," Michael interrupts. "There is a serial killer looking for you — you specifically. How do you think this is gonna end? This isn't just me being paranoid. This guy is out for blood, and he knows your name, your face, your voice. This isn't something to mess with, Castiel. I'm just praying it's not too late."

Castiel doesn't answer for a moment. Michael's right; he knows Michael's right. But shouldn't he still get the chance to decide for himself?


	8. Chapter 8

There are a lot of people crowded around his desk when Castiel makes the call. It would almost seem like a party if it wasn't dead silent. Castiel looks over at his brother, who gives him a single nod.

He dials the number. 

Ring. 

Ring.

Ring.

"Castiel?"

He flinches at that. He's never heard the man's voice before. He never had real confirmation it was a man at all. But here he is, on the other end of the phone. Five years, and he basically handed it over. And all it took was the constant knowledge that he could kill Castiel at any moment. 

Castiel swallows hard. "It's me."

"Take me off speaker."

Without thinking, Castiel spits out a surprised, "What?"

"Take me off speaker."

He looks over at his brother, who shakes his head. 

"You're not on speaker," Castiel lies. 

"For your sake, I hope you're lying."

Castiel looks at Hannah helplessly. What's he supposed to do with that? Was it a threat? Why? 

"Take me off speaker."

Castiel looks to Michael for advice, and he's shocked when his brother nods. Unfortunately, Castiel knows he has to do what he's told, so he turns speaker off and puts the phone to his ear. 

"You're off speaker now."

"Really?"

"Yes," Castiel says. "It's just you and me."

"And are you recording this conversation?" 

If he could ask Michael, he would, but he doesn't know what to say. The truth? Or would it be better to lie? He didn't think talking would be part of this job. 

Finally, he says, "Would it matter either way?"

The Bloody Valentine chuckles. "No, I guess not. But for now, it's just you and me?"

Castiel has to fight the urge to shiver at that. "That would be correct."

"Awesome," he says, seeming much more lively than he did at first. "I've been trying to contact you for a while. There's just too much I want to talk about, and not enough blood in the human body to do it."

Castiel bites his tongue, fighting back a grossed out response.

"I have to say, I didn't appreciate you letting your brother call me instead," he says. "I don't care about him. He does nothing but lie."

"About?" Castiel asks. 

"Everything," he says. "The press knows nothing. He tells them nothing. He keeps pretending you're getting close. I think it's about time to admit you're not going to catch me."

"I can't do that," Castiel replies. 

He sighs dramatically. "I know, but it was a nice thought."

"Where are you?" Castiel asks.

"Oh, don't bother," he says. "I know your boys are tracing the call as we speak. That's okay. I'll be out of here soon."

Castiel looks to his brother and shakes his head. Nothing important there. Michael looks disappointed, but it shouldn't be a surprise.

"What are you doing?" Castiel asks. 

"Talking," he replies. "Obviously."

"What were you doing before I called?" Castiel tries again. 

"Waiting," he replies. "I was almost starting to think you weren't gonna come through. But I should've known better. You never disappoint."

Castiel isn't sure how to answer that, so he changes the subject. 

"What's your name?"

"Well, I'm just your favorite little killer," he says. "That's all you need to know."

Castiel shakes his head to his brother again. 

"Why did you ask me to call you?" 

"Right, I actually have some questions for you," he says. "I heard a rather disturbing rumor recently."

"And what's that?" Castiel asks. 

"That you've been replaced," he says. "Tell me it's not true."

Castiel leans back in his seat, thinking about this. He calls it a rumor, but there's no way he should have this information at all. It's hard to think he might not know it's true. It sounds like a test, and without Michael to tell him what to say, he goes with what he thinks he should say. 

"You're correct."

The Bloody Valentine scoffs. "You're joking. Five years of this, and you're gone, just like that?"

"It would appear so," Castiel says. 

"Well, that's not fair."

Tell me about it.

"Well, if you're not playing the game, neither am I," he says. "I'm not gonna leave cute little notes. Just kill to kill to kill. It'll probably be quicker this way, anyway — less fun, but quicker. More bodies to drop."

Castiel puts his head in his hands for a moment, thinking this through. What does he do with that? He can't put himself on the case, but there's no way in hell he's telling the guy to keep killing people.

Finally, he says, "I know what you're trying to do, and you're taking it up with the wrong person."

"What?"

"You're trying to get me back on your case?" Castiel guesses. "Threatening to kill more people if I'm not?"

Michael glares at him after the first sentence, but after the second, he looks confused, and maybe a bit concerned. Castiel just shrugs. It's not his fault Michael can't hear what's happening. Although he did decide to antagonize him like that on purpose, but Michael doesn't need to know. 

"I didn't realize I was that transparent," he remarks. "Did it work?"

"I told you, wrong person to ask," Castiel says. "I didn't fire myself."

"Castiel!" Michael hisses. 

Castiel just gestures for him to shut up.

"Then who do I talk to?" he asks. 

"Why do you care?" Castiel counters. 

"Because I like you," he says simply. "You make things interesting."

Castiel doesn't know how to respond to that. Michael sure as hell isn't going to let him back after this. He should have just kept his mouth shut. 

But now that he has, he's out of chances, so he might as well keep asking questions Michael won't want the answer to. "What do you mean, you like me? You've don't know me. You've never met me — not even close."

Castiel risks a glance at Michael, who's tapping his fingers along the edge of the desk nervously. This isn't what he wanted to hear; Castiel knows that. And without the other side of the conversation, he can't imagine how bad this sounds. 

"You got close once," he says. "A couple weeks ago. I told you that. So I looked into you, and it took a lot of digging, but I figured out who you are."

"And what do you plan to do with that information?" Castiel asks, and though he knows he should be his own first priority, he finds himself asking it for Michael's sake more than his own. As long as it shuts Michael up, it's all good.

"I don't know yet," he says.

Castiel feels a sinking feeling in his stomach. There's not a single answer that would have made him less nervous. As if the uncertainty wasn't bad enough, he had to add the "yet," which means he's going to do something with it eventually. He just doesn't know what. 

"But don't worry," he adds. *I don't want to hurt you. I — and there they are."

"What?"

"Sirens," he says. "It took them long enough. I'll drop a new number next time."

"But —"

"Don't worry about it," he says. "Since you called, I'll give it another week, just for you."

"But —"

"And if you don't call me, I'll start dropping bodies every day 'til you do."

"Wait —"

"Talk to you later, Cas," he interrupts. "Different day, different city, different phone."

Click

And it's over.


	9. Chapter 9

"He's doing this on purpose," Michael says. "He wants you. He's watching you. You come back, you're falling right into his trap."

"Does it matter?" Castiel asks. "What's the worst he could do? Kill me?"

"He could do worse than that," Michael says. 

"Yeah, worse. Like killing more people than ever before out of spite.

"You piss off a serial killer —"

"He'll, what, kill me? Kidnap me? Torture me? That's fine," Castiel says. "Because if I don't go after him, more people will die, and civilians are not bargaining chips. We can't risk them on a maybe."

Michael looks at him for a moment, then sighs. "You're right. You're…" He puts a hand to his forehead, almost as if he has a migraine. "God, I hate this."

"I know you do," Castiel says. "But you know what? He likes me. For now, at least, he likes me, and he likes the game. He'll talk to me. I might be our way in, and we can get him off the streets for good."

"Yeah, maybe," Michael says. "Or maybe when we get too close, he'll kill you. That's not a risk I want to take."

"But it's a risk you have to take," Castiel says. 

Michael sighs and takes his hand away from his face. "I know. We don't have much of a choice. That doesn't make it any easier."

"Don't worry too much," Castiel says. "I'll be fine. I always am."


	10. Chapter 10

Meanwhile, Dean is ecstatic. He did it. He finally got to talk to the Castiel Novak. Granted, he can't prove it's him — just because he knew the first call was Michael doesn't mean he'd recognize Castiel's voice because he's never heard it — but the timing lines up. He was pulled from the case. It makes sense that it would take a few days to get ahold of him.

More importantly, though, is he didn't want to leave. Dean had been afraid that he'd gotten sick of it, or given up, or seen his name and been creeped out too much. But if he was fired, he didn't ask for it. He had no say in it. It seemed like he wasn't happy about it. This is perfect. 

What he finds hilarious, though, is that they tried to pass it off as if they were already alone. There's no way Castiel would be allowed to call him without at least his partner and his brother listening in. But he knows Castiel eventually gave in, or he would have heard his voice echoing. 

But now he has to wait. He has a week with nothing to do but travel before he can drop another line. He promised no more bodies, as a little thank-you, but how is he supposed to kill time without killing people until then? 

Looks like it's time to stock up on bus tickets. He's gonna need them.


	11. Chapter 11

"I'm glad you're back," Hannah says quietly. "It's weird, walking in there with someone who has no idea what to expect instead of someone who can determine a fake crime scene in five minutes."

Castiel chuckles softly. "I can only imagine."

"And I kinda missed you," Hannah adds. 

Castiel smiles slightly. "I missed you, too." They've been working together for years. It wasn't a very fun change.

He flashes a badge at the cop by the crime scene, and he lets them in without question. Hannah gets the inside scoop on what happened, but Castiel is more drawn to the message on the wall.

"So I'm a day early. I'm sorry, I just couldn't wait. It's been a boring six days. I'd say you have four days to call me, but I don't know if I have the patience to wait that long. Better safe than sorry, right? Call me, day or night. And if Cas isn't back on the case, forget it. I'll figure it out after a couple days of radio silence."

Castiel sighs. He likes this case. He likes trying to find this guy. He likes getting inside his head, see the world from his perspective. He just doesn't like phone calls. 

~~

Dean wakes up in the dead of night to his phone screaming at him. He groans and grabs it, ready to shut it off, until he realizes it's Castiel's number. He's been waiting for this. He just wishes it could've waited another couple hours. 

"It's 3:30 in the morning. What the fuck?"

"You said day or night," Castiel reminds him. "I picked night."

Dean chuckles half-heartedly. "That I did." So this is his new tactic, huh? Catch him off guard? "And you didn't put me on speaker this time, either. I'm impressed." He didn't hear his swearing echo back to him. 

"Your game, your rules," Castiel says. 

"I like this," he replies. "Last time, you were a bit rattled. Now you're ready."

"Well, what can I say?" Castiel says. "I know what to expect now."

"You don't, though," he says. "We talked once. There's no guarantee this will be anything like last week. For all you know, there's a hostage lying half dead next to me." Of course, he's actually alone in an abandoned house's kitchen, but Castiel doesn't need to know that.

"You sound like you just woke up and are in dire need of a cup of coffee," Castiel says. "I'm not really worried about you pulling something right now."

"You're not wrong," he says. God, he really does want some coffee, now that he says it. If only coffee shops were open at 3:30 in the morning. Are they? Maybe he should check. Would the cops question every dude nearby getting coffee at 3:30 in the morning?

"So?" Castiel asks. "Why did you want me to call you again?"

Dean shrugs, though Castiel can't see it. "I like talking to you." He was just trying to fuck with Michael at first, but it's actual kind of fun taking to him. 

"You —" Castiel scoffs. "You like talking to me?"

"Yeah, I do," Dean says. He doesn't talk to a lot of people. This is nice. 

There's a pause on the other end, then an awkward, "Okay." Changing the subject, he asks, "Why do you do this?"

"You're gonna have to be more specific than 'this,'" Dean says. "I do a lot of things." Like break into abandoned house's beds because he needs a place to sleep, for example.

"Anything," Castiel says. "Everything. What do you get out of killing people?"

Dean's first thought is to go with the simple answer — money. He kills someone, he takes their money. It's usually the only tangible thing he can take. He can only carry so much. But that's not why he does it, and he really wants Castiel to understand. 

"Have you ever killed someone?" Dean asks. 

"Of course not," Castiel says immediately. 

"I don't just mean in cold blood," Dean says. "You ever been after someone and pulled your gun at them? Killed 'em in the heat of the moment? All in a day's work, of course. Nothing wrong with it."

There's a long pause, until Castiel finally says a quiet, "Yes."

"Do you remember how it felt?" Dean asks. 

"Not pleasant, if that's where you're going with this," Castiel says coldly. Dean must have hit a nerve.

"No, not pleasant," Dean agrees. "Powerful. Adrenaline pumping, knowing you're in control. There's nothing else on the planet that gives you that kind of thrill. And after five years, I'm still not sick of it."

"And these people you're killing, they don't matter as long as your get your kicks in?" 

Dean sighs. "I've never had a very good relationship with the human race. I don't really care about them. I really don't understand why you do."

"Because they're people, same as you and me," Castiel says. 

"Exactly," Dean says. "Just like you and me. They can fight back, just like you and me. One of them takes me out, good for them. There's no reason they can't turn it around on me. And if they don't? That's their own damn fault."

"Not everyone can fight a serial killer," Castiel says. "Not everyone can fight, period."

"If they never took the time to learn, I have a hard time feeling bad for them," Dean says. 

"Not everyone lives a life where they need to fight," Castiel says. 

"Then they're some lucky sons of bitches," Dean replies. Growing up like he did, he definitely can't say the same. "Doesn't give them a free pass."

"So that's it?" Castiel asks. "You basically just kill people because you can?"

"Sounds about right," Dean says. "It's fun. I'd say you should try it, but with your brother being who he is, that may not go over too well."

"Why do you keep mentioning my brother?" Castiel asks. "Both calls. He never did anything."

"He has, though," Dean says. "He's the one who tells the media everything except what they need to know about me."

"And what do they need to know about you?" Castiel asks. 

Dean hadn't really thought of that. He notices a lot of omitted details, but off the top of his head, he's not sure what they would be. 

"Anything?" Castiel asks. "Can you think of a single thing he's done wrong, or are you just against him because of his position?"

Dean thinks this over. His biggest pet peeve is that no one but the FBI seems to know about his little messages, but that doesn't seem important now. Instead, he says, "I guess he should just tell them that I'm uncatchable."

Castiel scoffs. "Uncatchable, right. Of course."

"It's been five years, Cas," Dean says. "More than that, even. You haven't found me yet. What makes you think that's gonna change?"

Castiel pauses. "I guess I just have more faith in myself and my team than I do in you."

"And that, my friend, is your problem," Dean replies, the last word interrupted by a yawn. "Seriously, why 3:30 in the morning? That's just rude."

"I would say murder's a bit ruder," Castiel says. 

Dean pauses. Well, he's not wrong. He probably shouldn't complain, anyway, considering how hard it is to get the guy in the phone in the first place. Although maybe it's hard for a reason, and maybe this is the reason. 

"What are you trying to pull?" Dean asks. "I'm guessing you wanted me off my guard for something."

"No, I've just been working my ass off trying to find you, and I finally decided to use the one resource I have left."

"At 3:30 in the morning?" Dean says skeptically. "Don't tell me you've been trying to find me this whole time."

"What can I say? You kept me up all night."

Dean smiles to himself at that. He likes the connotations that come with that statement, even if Castiel only said it as a half-hearted joke. It would be cute if Dean didn't know this call was just a distraction. He just doesn't know what he's supposed to be distracted from. 

And there it is. 

"Smart," Dean says. "No lights, no sirens, middle of the night when I'm half asleep. I don't think they know where I am, though, just a general area, because they're not coming here."

Castiel chuckles drily. "Well, thank you for your cooperation. I'll make sure to tell them to check a different house."

"No problem," Dean says, but his mind isn't really in it. He looks around, aware of the back door but not sure he wants to ditch just yet. If he waits too long, he's sure they'll surround the house. If he leaves, they could catch him on the run. He's not sure which is worse. 

"You want to cooperate a little more, tell me which house you're actually in?" Castiel asks. 

"Where's the fun in that?" 

"Probably more fun than then kicking the door down," Castiel says. 

"Yeah, you're probably right," Dean says. He makes a split second decision. "Well, it's been great catching up with you. I'm gonna go hide in a closet, and I can't risk them hearing us chat. Talk to you in a week, Cas."

He hangs up the phone, smashes it under his foot, and runs out the back door. He's never really been afraid he'd get caught, but now, he's not completely confident he can make it out. But it's an adrenaline rush like no other, and he loves every second of it.


	12. Chapter 12

"We had him," Castiel mutters. "He was right there. How did we lose him?"

"That's not on us," Hannah reminds him. "We did the best we could — you did the best you could. If the NYPD couldn't keep up, that's on them, not you."

"What if it's not?" Castiel asks. "What if I was wrong? Maybe he really was hiding in a closet. Maybe I should've told them to check the houses instead of the back doors."

"They did check," Hannah reminds him. "When watching the back doors wasn't panning out, they checked inside, and if he was there, the cops didn't find him."

"Well, he couldn't have disappeared," Castiel says. "He was there. We know that. Either he hid really well, or he left quicker than we thought. If I could've kept him distracted just a few minutes longer —"

"Then there would've been an extra few minutes before he told you they were checking the wrong house," Hannah says. "There's nothing you could have done. He's just too good."

"No one's too good," Castiel says. "We're just too bad — I'm just too bad."

"Cas, they gave you this case for a reason," Hannah says. "You're the best we've got. And we've gotten close twice now. We're getting better. If nothing else, trial and error —"

"Will make him smarter," Castiel interrupts. "He's learning, just like us. He might be learning quicker than us."

"He's also getting more reckless, though," Hannah says. "He likes you."

Castiel groans. "Don't remind me."

"We can use that," Hannah continues. "He's messy when you're around. This is a whole new game, Castiel. We're getting somewhere now. Just give it a few more tries."

"You mean a few more deaths," Castiel says. "'Cause someone's gonna die every time we miss him."

"And sometimes, that's what we gotta deal with."


	13. Chapter 13

Dean takes some extra precautions with his next murder, keeping out of the way and not staying long. Unfortunately, almost a week later, he's yet to hear anything from it, either in the news or from his phone. Maybe the dead guy's house was a little too out of the way. 

So he decides to try again, down in Texas this time. He's always liked Texas, even if it's consistently a million degrees out. He knocks on a random front door, waiting patiently for someone to open it. 

She looks like a sweet lady. She's fairly short, probably in her early thirties, and has a small smile on her face. He smiles back at her, because he's a civilized person, after all. 

Then he pushes her into the house, slams the sit behind them, and slits her throat. 

Because, you know, civilized. 

"Hey!"

Dean looks over to see a man down the short hallway into the kitchen, and he isn't too concerned until he sees the guy pull a gun from his waistband. He's killed a lot of Southerners before, many of whom he's sure owned guns, but no one's ever actually pulled one on him. On the off chance they even have their gun with them, they're usually too shocked to do anything with it. 

But the man shoots him in the shoulder, and Dean can tell he's not one of them. 

"Ah, shit," Dean mutters, clutching his shoulder.

He runs to the guy, ready to slit his throat, too, but before he reaches him, there's a bullet in his leg. But before he can shoot again, Dean hits the gun out of the way, then glides the knife across his throat. 

"Daddy!" 

Dean follows the sound of the voice to find a young girl, not more than five years old, hidden in an adjoining room. When she sees him, she screams, and Dean smacks her upside the head, knocking her out easily. He slits her throat as well, and though he wants to write his message to Castiel, he can't. He can't even sign his little bloody heart. 

Dean's leg gives out and he falls to the ground. He groans, lying flat on his back. With every passing second, it seems to hurt more and more, if that's even possible. He's heard of people passing out from pain, and he's starting to think he may get to experience that firsthand. 

Except, he realizes with a frown, he can't. If he passes out here, there's no way he can bullshit his way out of this if the cops show up. Even without his signature, the three murders here is enough to put him away for a long time, and unless he admits to being the Bloody Valentine killer, there would be no chance that he'd ever speak to Cas again. 

Dean pushes himself to his feet, and his leg feels like it's on fire. He can ignore his shoulder, but he kind of needs a leg to walk. Pulling out what very little medical knowledge he has, he takes his top flannel off and ties it around the bullet wound. He can't help but wonder how credible the advice to add compression to a bleeding wound is, because it just seems to hurt more, not to mention how painful it was on his shoulder to tie it. 

But he doesn't have much choice in this. He needs to get out of here. So, despite every inch of his body screaming at him to stop, he walks out of the house and into hiding.


	14. Chapter 14

Castiel and his team don't discover the body until a few days later. Not the new body; without the Bloody Valentine's signature, no one thinks to involve the feds. No, they find the old body, which had been lying in a pool of its own blood for over a week. 

"And no one noticed it 'til now?" Castiel asks, incredulous. "Or no one thought to get us on the phone? Because honestly, I don't know what's worse."

The local police officer, who would probably seem really sweet if Castiel hadn't been in an awful mood lately, quickly runs through her defense, and the defense of the department, seemingly mostly out of fear. 

"He wasn't a popular guy," she says. "And it was a Friday night. No one noticed he was missing until he didn't show up to work for a few days."

"Your definition of a few days and my definition of a few days are apparently very different," Castiel says.

"Castiel," Hannah says quietly, warning him to calm down. 

"Apparently, he always had bad attendance," the officer says. "No one thought anything of it until he was gone more than a week."

"Thank you," Hannah says quickly, then leads Castiel away before he can snap at her. Under her breath, she murmurs, "I know you're upset, but you need to calm down."

"All this time, I thought he just dropped off the radar, and he was right fucking here," Castiel hisses. "And we would've known that if people could do their fucking jobs —"

"Everyone here did," Hannah whispers. "It's just the dead guy being unreliable, both in life and death. There's nothing anyone can do about it. There haven't been any murders since. I think he gave you the benefit of the doubt, so just calm down and take this like a normal case."

Castiel sighs. "Fine. Let's go."

They're directed to the victim's body, another short message written in blood on the wall, complete with a new phone number.

"Maybe call me during the day this time."

"So? What now?" Hannah asks.

"Now we head back and call him," Castiel says. "And just pray that we're not too late."

~~

The only people around Castiel's desk with him are Michael and Hannah when he makes the phone call. The phone rings and rings and rings and rings and…

"The owner of this phone has not set up a voicemail."

Castiel groans and hangs up. "Nothing."

"He didn't pick up?" Michael guesses. 

"Does it look like he picked up?"

Michael puts his hand up slightly, backing down. 

"What do we do now?" Castiel asks. "Keep calling him? Move on?"

"It's your case," Michael says, already turning to leave after that turned nothing up. "I trust you'll make the right call."

As soon as Michael is gone, Hannah sits down next to Castiel, more at ease now. "What do you want to do?"

Castiel thinks for a moment. "I guess we wait. Call him every few hours, use the free time to come up with a plan."


	15. Chapter 15

Dean doesn't check his phone for a few days, and he's shocked to see it's not yet dead. He has almost 50 missed calls, all of which are from the same number. Dean may not have it memorized, but he vaguely recognizes it as Castiel's number. Well, isn't that a nice surprise?

Should he expect another call soon? Looking at the times, they've been getting less and less frequent. For all he knows, Castiel may have given up by now. It's certainly been a while since he heard anything. Dean would have given up, too. 

Even if he does call, though, would he want to answer it? He may be in the middle of the forest right now — which probably won't have very good reception, now that he thinks about it — but he's sure they could still track him down here. Just because he doesn't want to cut his leg off anyone doesn't mean it doesn't still hurt. Getting out of here would be a pain in the ass — or, more literally, a pain in the shoulder and leg. 

But it's Castiel, so it's worth it. 

Dean looks at his phone for a few moments, then calls him back. He's not sure what phone this is, and for all he knows, he's going straight to Michael Novak instead. But if it's not Castiel, he'll just hang up and wait for him to call back. 

"Agent Castiel Novak."

Dean doesn't move for a moment. This is what he wanted. He wanted to talk to Cas. It was supposed to cheer him up a little. But he doesn't know what to say. He can't do anything. His leg and shoulder are still throbbing just sitting here. He can't go kill someone. The game's over, or paused at the least. He doesn't even know why he called. 

"Hey, hang on," Castiel says quickly. "It's you. You called me this time."

Dean can hear him keep talking, but he isn't listening. He has no idea what he wanted to accomplish, calling him. Now he needs to leave, and he definitely can't travel as quickly with a hurt leg as he could before. 

He turns the phone off and pulls the battery out, but he doesn't break it, just in case. He shoves it in his pocket and begins his painful trek through the woods. When he finds his way back to society, the first thing he's doing is buying some new clothes, so he doesn't attract any weird looks from his bloodied flannels and jeans. Then it's time to catch a bus out of town, and pray he didn't fuck this up too badly.


	16. Chapter 16

"Hello?" Castiel says, growing more and more desperate. "Hello? Are you still there?"

Click.

Castiel puts his phone down with a sigh. What the hell? Why did he call just to hang up? What's going on? And what's he supposed to do with it?

Castiel rolls his chair over to Hannah. "Hey."

"Hey?" Hannah says uncertainly. "What's up?"

"I just got a call from our mystery murderer."

Hannah gapes at him. "He called you?"

Castiel nods. "And hung up a few seconds later."

"What? Why?"

Castiel shrugs. "He didn't say anything, so I have no idea. I don't even know if it's worth trying to track him. It's looking like he might have a trap laid out, and wanted to get us there." The thought hadn't even occurred to him until he said it. It's probably the most logical assumption. That might have been the whole point of starting these phone calls between them. 

"Oh, you're right," Hannah says. "We should at least tell Michael, though. And maybe contact the local police, just in case."

"Do we have to tell Michael?" Castiel asks, almost whining. 

"I get that you grew up with him and keeping secrets is perfectly okay in families, but he's also our boss," Hannah reminds him. "If he finds out that he doesn't know everything about this case, I don't have that sibling defense."

"No, but I do, and he can't punish you without punishing me," Castiel says. 

"Yeah, and he could fire you," Hannah says. "He's already half done it before, and you know he wants you off this case anyway. If he can fire you, what's he gonna do to me?"

Castiel thinks about this for a moment. "Yeah, okay, you're right. I really shouldn't risk your job on this. I just know he's not gonna like sitting here and doing nothing."

"He doesn't have to," Hannah says. "He respects you. He'll accept whatever you want to do. It's your bad guy."

"Our bad guy," Castiel corrects her. 

Hannah laughs. "Our? Maybe a few months ago he was, but he picked you. He's your guy now. I'm just along for the ride."


	17. Chapter 17

Over the next two weeks, the Bloody Valentine really does drop off the radar. There's no sign of him. Castiel tries calling a couple times every day, but he knows it's no use. The guy never keeps a phone after a call, and no one's been able to track it. It's safe to assume he broke it the second he hung up, not that anyone's gone to check.

Michael was fine with that, to Castiel's surprise. He's still fine with it. He's under the impression that they saved a lot of local law enforcement lives, and he may be right.

But Castiel is starting to second guess himself. Maybe it was a trap, maybe it wasn't, he doesn't know. But what he does know is that he hasn't heard anything since, and that may have been their last chance to catch him, at least for a while. Maybe they should have taken it. 

"I'm heading home for the night," Hannah says.

"'Night," Castiel replies, his eyes still on his map of every place the guy had hit in the last few months. 

"You should, too," Hannah adds. "Get some rest. Save your brain for when we have something to go on."

Castiel sighs. "That's probably a good idea."

"Of course it is," Hannah replies. "I've only been saying it for five years."

"I'm just gonna try to call him one more time, then I'm out."

Hannah rolls her eyes. "Yeah, okay. You do that. I'm leaving now."

Castiel doesn't pay her any mind as she packs up her things. He dials the number he now has committed to memory and waits. 

Ring

Ring

Ring

Ring

Ring

"Cas, I fucked up."

Castiel almost falls out of his chair when he hears that voice. "You picked up."

Hannah looks over immediately, eyes wide. Castiel doesn't know what to do, so he doesn't do anything.

"Yeah, looks like," he replies. 

"Where have you been?" Castiel asks, like a dumbass. There's no way he's going to get an answer. That would give too much away, and the guy's smarter than that. 

"Is this what it feels like to have a responsible parent?" he asks. "I don't know how I feel about this."

"No, I mean…" Well, actually, that does almost sound like a parent. He didn't quite have a defense to that. "You 'fucked up'?"

Hannah wheels her chair in front of Castiel's desk, impatiently waiting for answers. Castiel has to wave her off, a silent promise to tell her everything in a second. 

"Big time."

"What did you do?" Castiel asks. 

"I got shot."

Castiel starts choking on air at that. "You got shot?"

Hannah gapes at him. She whispers, so quietly that she's almost mouthing the words, "He got shot?"

Castiel just nods. 

"Yeah. Twice."

"Are you okay?" Castiel asks, then realizes that was probably a stupid question. Why should he care whether the guy's okay? He's a serial killer. Why is his first instinct to treat him like a normal person? If anything, he should probably hope the guy isn't okay.

"I think that depends on your definition of 'okay,'" he says. "I can barely walk. For days, if I made one wrong move I'd started bleeding again. I've been squatting in the same abandoned house for weeks 'cause I don't feel like I can go anywhere or do anything."

Castiel isn't quite sure how to feel about that. After a pause, he asks, "How did you get shot?"

"Broke into the wrong house, I guess," he says. "Killed the wrong people."

"Did you go to the hospital?" They could check for hospital visits near any recent murders for patients admitted for gunshot wounds, hopefully at least get an idea of what this guy looks like.

"Do I strike you as the type of guy to have health insurance?"

Castiel can't help but smile to himself at that. He's decently sure it wasn't a joke — paying a whole hospital bill out of pocket would be damn near impossible — but it certainly sounds like one. 

"I guess not," Castiel says. "You know, we could get you to a hospital, free of charge."

"If I turn myself in," he finishes. "I think I'd rather just pray that there's no bullet inside me than spend the rest of my life in jail, but I appreciate the offer."

"Are you sure?" he asks. "Gun shot wounds are not something to take lightly."

"Neither is life in prison," he says. 

"Then why did you tell me?" Castiel asks. "If you don't want my help, what's the point?"

"What's the point of any of this?" he counters. "I just need something to do, and you're the closest thing to a friend I've got."

Castiel props his head up on his hand, covering his surprised look. He should have known, obviously, that the guy didn't have many friends. There's not a whole lot of room for them when you're constantly traveling the country and killing people. But the fact that his best friend is the guy trying to put him in jail… that's just sad. 

"What?" Hannah whispers. 

Castiel just holds up a finger, gesturing for her to wait a moment. 

"Cas?" he says cautiously. "You still here?"

"Yeah," Castiel says. "Yeah, I'm here." 

"Cool."

Castiel holds the phone between his ear and shoulder, and grabs a piece of paper and a pencil to write Hannah a note. "Tell Michael. Have them track the call. I didn't think to record it but there doesn't seem to be any reason to." Castiel knows what the guy's saying. No one else needs to. It's probably better that Michael doesn't know a serial killer considers him his closest friend, anyway. 

Hannah reads the note over, nods once, then darts from his desk

"We haven't met, have we?" Castiel asks. Maybe he's talked to the guy without knowing it's him. That could be why he sees them as friends. 

"No, why would we have?" 

"Just wondering."

"Is this about the friend thing?" he asks. "'Cause I know you don't feel the same. I just don't really talk to people."

"Well, I'm sure it's hard to make friends when you murder them," Castiel remarks. 

"That's kinda rude," he says.

"So is murder."

"That's fair," he says. "How long do I have until you track the call and send the cops after me?"

"I'm not," Castiel lies. He sure as hell isn't telling the guy to leave before they catch him. 

"Not long, I'm guessing?" he asks. "I should probably go, get a head start."

"That's probably a good idea," Castiel admits, because he's leaving anyway, so what's the point of lying about it?

"It was nice talking to you," he says. "I'm gonna kill the phone, so you won't be able to call me back until I get a new one. 'Till then, have fun chasing your tail, Cas. I know I'll have fun watching it."

There's a click, and Castiel sighs. He'll give it an hour, tops, before they tell him the guy's nowhere to be seen. He's just too good.


	18. Chapter 18

"What did he say?" Michael demands, and Castiel can tell he's pissed. That's karma for not taping the call, apparently. 

"He got shot," Castiel says. "Something he killed tried to fight back. He'd been squatting in an abandoned house since then. That's it."

"That's it?" Michael says skeptically. "He called you just to tell you he got hurt?"

"Trust me, I'm just as confused as you," Castiel says. 

"Did he say anything else?" Michael asks. 

"Nope."

"Anything," Michael adds. "Anything at all, whether you think it's important or not."

Castiel scoffs. "You want me to put on a one-person play or something?"

"Go for it."

Castiel rolls his eyes. "I was gonna head out. I called him one last time. He picked up, and the first thing he said was that he fucked up —"

"What do you mean?" Michael interrupts. 

"Just that he got shot," Castiel says. "There's no hidden meaning there. I asked. Now, do you want the run down, or do you want to keep asking stupid questions?"

Michael crosses his arms, annoyed. "Continue."

"So, he said he got shot, I asked what happened, and he made some crack about feeling like he finally has a good parent, but I'm sure no one here is surprised that he didn't have a good home life growing up.

"Then he said he got shot killing someone, but we didn't find any sign of a gun at the last crime scene, so I have a feeling we missed one. He probably didn't sign it. Getting shot does things to you. Then he made a joke about not going to the hospital because he doesn't have health insurance, and then he left before we could find him."

Of course, he left out a couple small details. Obviously, he didn't want to mention the little bit about being the guy's closest friend. That wouldn't go over well. He also didn't mention asking if the guy was okay, because even if he was going into excessive detail to please his brother, he doesn't want to give the impression that the slip up means he cares. And, of course, he probably shouldn't mention that he admit that they were tracking him, because even if he knew it wouldn't change anything, it's still not something Michael would enjoy hearing.

"So that's it?" Michael asks. "It was, what, just a social call before he snuck back off into oblivion?"

Castiel shrugs. "I didn't claim to understand it. Serial killers are fucking weird."

Michael raises an eyebrow, but if he's having doubts, he doesn't say anything about it. Instead, he just says, "Well, he's gone now, anyway. We're out 'till the next murder."

"Maybe," Castiel says. "Or we can get the NYPD on the phone and have them contact any source of public transportation nearby, look for anyone with a bad limp and keep an eye on them. Have the local police grab him wherever he gets off."

"What makes you think he's even taking public transportation?" Michael asks. 

"He was squatting in an abandoned house for weeks," Castiel says. "He doesn't seem like the type of guy to risk getting caught trespassing if he had a car to sleep in."

"He's a serial killer," Michael reminds him. "I don't think he's above a little breaking and entering."

"Morally, no, not at all," Castiel says. "But he's not an idiot. We get him for trespassing, we could use it to connect him to the murders. He's not dumb enough to risk getting caught if he doesn't have to."

Michael nods slowly. "Well, it's worth a shot. I'll get on that."

"I can do it," Castiel says. 

"No, you're going to go home and sleep," Michael says. 

"But —"

"I know you were stressed out when he dropped off the map. He's back now. Everything's normal again. So get some sleep."

"You're not my dad," Castiel snaps. 

"Would you like me to get Dad on the phone?" Michael asks. 

Castiel groans. "Fine, I'll go. But only if you do it now. I don't know how long we have."

"You know, you're really not supposed to be the one giving orders," Michael says. 

"Since when have I cared about that?"


	19. Chapter 19

Watching public transportation doesn't work out. Dean stays in the city for a few days before heading out, because he's not in a rush to kill anyone else. In fact, he doesn't kill anyone for another month. It takes that long for his leg to even start to feel normal, although he knows there's still something very wrong with it — even more so than just the hole going through it. 

Logically, Dean knows he should stick it out until he's feeling better, but he's getting too impatient to talk to Castiel. He'll make this one quick. Just a brief murder, in and out. Maybe he'll call and drop an anonymous tip himself, just to get Castiel on the phone quicker. He's getting really eager. 

So what's what he does. He followed an old lady home, kills her as quickly as he can, and writes his note on the wall. 

"Long time, no chat, huh?"

He follows it with his new phone number, his heart of blood signatures, then gets the hell out. It's a few minutes later that he dials 911.

"911, what's your emergency?"

"Hey, some dude just walked into my neighbor's house. You should probably send someone to check it out."

"Unfortunately, walking into a house is not a crime," the 911 operator says. "Do you have any reason to think he —"

Dean groans. "Okay, fuck it. I'm the Bloody Valentine. Get Cas to 67 Lawrence Street, Kansas. I'll be waiting."

Dean hangs up the phone. And now for the boring part — waiting. 

~~

"You're shitting me."

Michael sighs. "I wish I were."

"He called 911 on himself," Castiel repeats. "Why would he do that?"

"Well, he asked for you," Michael says. "I'm guessing he did it for you."

Castiel groans. "God, don't say it like that."

"Am I wrong?" Michael asks. "Whatever sick fascination he has with you, it's what's motivating his kills. It looked like that was helping for the longest time, but now… I don't think he would have killed this woman if he didn't want to talk to you."

"You know, this is a really shitty pep talk."

"Good," Michael says. "You already know I don't like this. I've only let you stay because I thought it was helping. If I ever get the feeling you're doing more harm than good here, I'm going to take you off this case for real."

"Wow, you really don't understand what a pep talk is supposed to be, do you?"

"Here's your pep talk: catch the guy before I have to take you off the case."

Castiel rolls his eyes. "Easier said than done, Michael."

~~

"I'm almost afraid to call him," Castiel admits as he drives Hannah back from the airport. Castiel always drives her to and from the crime scene. It's just habit at this point. 

"Why?" she asks. "You've done it a million times before."

"I know, but this feels different," Castiel says. "Michael has a point. It looks like he only killed get to get to me. It's a lot harder to think I'm helping when I'm getting people killed."

"Fuck Michael," Hannah says. "He doesn't know what he's talking about."

"I beg to differ," Castiel says. "Michael knows exactly what he's talking about. I'm a liability right now — now, and probably until we catch him."

"Then let's catch him quickly," Hannah says. "We don't have time to waste."


	20. Chapter 20

"Hello?" 

"Hey, Cas. What's happening?"

Castiel looks to his partner for silent reassurance. "Not much." 

"Ah, same here."

"How are your bullet wounds doing?" Castiel asks. 

"It still hurts like a bitch, but it's getting better," he says. "I'll live — but I'm sure that's not such a good thing to you."

"Well, I can't deny that," Castiel says. "But this does make my life more interesting."

"I'll take it," he says.

"You like that?" Castiel asks. 

"I mean, I certainly don't dislike it," he says. "I'm not expecting you to like me, but I'm glad you see an up side."

"Is that why you wanted to talk to me?" Castiel asks. 

"What?"

"Did you want to talk to me because you hoped I kind of like you?"

There's a pause, then, "That's a weird question. I don't know, I guess I just like talking to you. Why do you ask?"

"Is that why you killed her?"

"Castiel!" Michael hisses. Castiel already knew he wouldn't be too fond of him bringing up their conversation, but he has to know. 

"What?" he asks, confused. "Is that why I killed who?"

"That old lady when you dropped your phone number,* Castiel says. "You've been gone so long. Did you just kill her to get to me? Would you have come back so soon if you'd never spoken to me?"

"Cas —"

"Don't call me that," Castiel snaps. 

"What's going on with you today?" he asks. 

"What's going on?" Castiel repeats. "What's going on is that I think I might have an innocent old lady's blood on my hands because I made the mistake of talking to you."

He sighs. "Cas, come on, that's not how it happened."

"Really? Because that's how it looks to me."

"No, I just got bored," he says. "It didn't have anything to do with you."

"Then why'd you call the cops?" Castiel asks. "Doesn't exactly sound like your usual murder agenda."

"Well, okay, that part was because I wanted to talk to you," he says. "But don't think the whole thing was, 'cause I was just bored. Don't worry about it."

And, for some reason, that makes him feel just a little better.


	21. Chapter 21

Dean doesn't like people.

In fact, Dean has never liked people.

And, for the most part, people have never liked him back, either.

But Castiel's different. There's just something about him that has Dean really caring what he thinks.

He's not sure why. The guy's just trying to put him in jail, after all. But Dean still finds himself wanting to keep Castiel happy, or as happy as he can, given the circumstances. So if he has to lie and pretend he came out of hiding just because he was bored and not because he wanted to talk to Castiel again, that's what he'll do.

Granted, he would have done it eventually, anyway. His wounds have been getting better, even if they still hurt when he moves the wrong way. That's really the only reason he disappeared — he didn't want that to be his downfall. But he wouldn't have risked coming back so soon if it hadn't been for Castiel.

One would think that, as a serial killer who pretty much hates humanity, Dean had never felt lonely. And, until recently, it was true. He didn't want friends. He had never really wanted to hang out with anyone — other than his brother growing up, of course, but they stopped talking after Sam ditched him for school. That's what having friends is — liking someone until they stab you in the back.

But right now, he is lonely. Part of him wants to be friends with Castiel, though the logical part of his brain knows it won't happen. There's no way an agent would befriend a serial killer. But he at least wants to talk to the guy.

And if committing extra murders is what it takes, so be it.

~~

Dean decides to drop a line again after another boring couple days. He rings the doorbell of a random house in a small, kind of cute neighborhood. It almost seems fitting that it's a small, kind of cute girl who answers the door.

"Can I help you?" she asks politely, pushing her red hair behind her ear.

"I hope so," Dean replies, a small smile on his face. "I'm kind of new to the neighborhood, and I was trying to make some pie and I realized I don't have my sugar. Can I borrow just a little bit, please?"

"Of course," she says, gesturing for him to come in. "I didn't know we had new neighbors," she remarks. "Where'd you move in?"

"A few houses down," Dean lies.

"Well, I hope to see you around, then." She scoops out a few cups of sugar and dumps them in a plastic bag. "I'm Anna, by the way."

"Dean," he replies.

She hands him the sugar. "That look like enough?"

"Perfect," Dean says with a kind smile. "Oh, hey, one more thing?"

"What's up?" she asks.

Dean rips out this pocket knife, flicking it open and gliding it across her throat. She tries to scream, but Dean covers her mouth, just long enough for her to lose that willpower before letting her fall to the floor.

"Thanks," Dean says with a smile. "Hang on just a couple more minutes, okay? I gotta write a letter to an old friend."

Dean digs through the kitchen for a toothpick, then looks around for the perfect spot on the wall. Maybe right above her bookshelf, over the pictures lined on top of it? That sounds perfect.

He dips the toothpick in the blood streaming out of her throat, and she tries to fight back weakly. It doesn't help her case much. At this rate, she'll be dead by the time he finishes writing.

Dean walks over to the wall, but one of the pictures catches his gaze. He pauses, then picks it up. Is that…

"Cas?" he whispers.

In the photo, Anna is sitting on the back of someone who looks shockingly like a slightly younger Castiel, both beaming at the camera. It looks like they might have been laughing when someone took the picture.

Dean puts it down, and looks at the picture next to it. All the confirmation he needed that Castiel was in the picture before is seeing Michael in this one. There's another picture, possibly Dean's personal favorite, of the two boys holding her up like a chair. He can't help but smile at it. They all look so happy. Dean hasn't seen Castiel very much, but he knows for a fact he's never seen him so happy.

Dean's never going to see him this happy if he kills his friend.

Dean drops the toothpick on the ground. He's never had to save someone before. What does he do? He should probably call 911. An ambulance could help. But it'll also draw the cops over. The cops find him, and he's a goner. But if that's what it takes to save Castiel's sister, it's a risk he's willing to take.

Dean looks around, his eyes finally landing on her home phone. He doesn't notice many home phones anymore. Thank god she hasn't gotten with the times. He grabs the phone and dials 911.

"911, what's your emergency?"

"I need an ambulance," Dean says quickly.

"What happened?" the operator asks calmly.

"Does it matter? She's fucking dying," Dean snaps. "I need an ambulance!"

"Sir, you need to calm down," she says. "Where are you?"

"I —" He pauses. He has no idea where he is. He doesn't check addresses. He looks down to ask Anna, but she's certainly in no shape to answer any questions. "Hang on, I'm gonna go check."

Dean runs out of the house and to the end of the street, taking note of the street name. He quickly names off the street name and house number, and he already knew the city and state. He just came to Sioux Falls a few days ago, after all.

"Okay," the operator says, but before she can keep talking, Dean hangs up and runs back to Anna's side. "Hey, are you still alive?"

Anna doesn't answer, but Dean can see her eyes flicker. She looks vaguely alive. What's Dean supposed to do to keep her vaguely alive? He's vaguely aware that compression is supposed to help. Maybe he should do that?

Dean takes his top flannel off and folds it a couple times, then presses it against her throat. She lets out a strangled groan, but otherwise doesn't protest. She probably can't.

"You're okay," Dean says quietly. "You're gonna be okay. The ambulance is coming, okay?"

God, what does he do now? If the ambulance doesn't get here quicker…

Anna's eyes drift closed, and Dean shakes her gently.

"No, no, no," Dean murmurs. "You're okay. You're not dying. You can't be dying. C'mon, wake up!" He presses the flannel against her neck a little harder, and even though he's folded it a few times, the blood still seeps through and onto his hands.

And there they are.

"I hear sirens," Dean says quietly. "I have to go. Please be okay. Tell Cas I'll sorry, okay?"

Dean drops his flannel and runs out the back door, but it's not like it was last time. Last time he almost got caught, this was a rush. Now, he just wishes he could stay and see if she's going to be alright.


	22. Chapter 22

Next time Dean drops a line, it's a week later, and it takes days for him to finally get a call. When he does, he doesn't recognize the voice, but it sure as hell isn't Cas. 

"Where is he?" Dean demands. What is this bullshit? He's already made it very clear he only wants to talk to Castiel. 

"Not important."

Dean scoffs. "I think it's kinda important. Is he okay?"

"What do you want?"

"I want to talk to Cas," Dean says. 

"That's not an option."

"Then I'm gonna start dropping bodies every day until it is," Dean snaps, then throws his phone at a wall. What the fuck is this?

~~

"Cas?" 

"What do you want?"

"You're not Cas," Dean says. "I told you I want to speak to Cas."

"Agent Novak is no longer on this case," the new officer says, which sparks of pang of hope in Dean. He just got pulled again. Dean will just have to get him back. Cas will be thrilled with him. "If you'd like to speak to him, you go to any police station."

"And turn myself in," Dean finishes. "Not a chance in hell. You have one more chance, or I will start dropping bodies daily."

~~

"Cas?" 

"The fuck do you want?"

Dean lets out a quiet gasp before he can stop himself. That's him. That's really him. 

But he's angry. 

"I'm sorry," Dean says. He's not used to apologizing, but for Cas, he will. 

"No, you're not," Castiel snaps. "You're not fucking sorry. You've never been fucking sorry. That's who you are."

"Cas —"

"Stop fucking calling me that," Castiel says, practically yelling. "You can't try to kill my fucking sister and then keep using nicknames like we're best fucking friends."

His sister. 

That was his sister. 

God, he's in trouble. 

"I didn't realize," Dean says.

"That doesn't fucking matter," Castiel snaps. "Because if it wasn't me sleeping in hospital chairs for days, it would be a different family at a fucking funeral. This is what you do, okay?" His voice breaks as he says it. "You kill people and you tear families apart, and I tried so, so fucking hard to seperate myself from your victims and to just focus on catching you instead, but I give up, okay?"

"What are you talking about?" Dean asks, because he can't hear what Dean thinks he means. 

"I quit, okay?" Castiel says. "I fucking quit. I'm not on your case, I'm not in the FBI, I'm just fucking out. My two weeks are up tomorrow."

"What are you gonna do then?" Dean asks, almost hesitantly. 

"Whatever it takes to get as far away from you as I can," Castiel says. "So if you could just fuck all the way off —"

There's some indistinct murmuring on the other end. 

"You told me to talk to him," Castiel snaps, and Dean gets the feeling it's not directed towards him. "You made me talk to him. Well, I'm fucking talking."

"Cas?" Dean says hesitantly. 

There's a pause, the near silence filled with muffled talking on the other end. Dean waits impatiently to hear Castiel's voice again, but after a minute or so, it's Michael who speaks. 

"I hope that's enough to make you reconsider your career path."

"What?" Dean says, confused. 

"This happens every time you kill someone," Michael says. "It hurts people every time."

"Well, yeah, but…" Dean trails off. 

"And, just between you and me," Michael says, "You slip up once and we catch you, you are not going to like what happens next. I will make sure of it."

Dean nods to himself. He deserves that. 

"Is she alive?" Dean asks. 

"For now," Michael says. "And, for your sake, you'd better hope it stays that way."


	23. Chapter 23

Castiel hasn't left the hospital in two weeks. He's been sitting by his sister's side the whole time, just waiting for her to wake up. The doctors said it's less and less likely with every passing day, but Castiel has faith. He has to.

Michael pops in mosts nights, usually bringing him food because God knows Castiel isn't leaving to get any. Even Hannah comes over sometimes, but she only met Anna once or twice, so he knows she's only coming to check on him. 

Castiel wasn't lying when he said he quit. It took Michael days to even convince him to talk to the guy who put his sister in a coma. And, as of tomorrow, he's officially out of the Bureau, and as a civilian, he won't be allowed to talk to the guy ever again — or so Michael says, though Castiel doesn't quite know how that works. 

But he doesn't really care All he knows is he's had enough hunting serial killers for one lifetime. 

~~

Castiel's still sitting by Anna's hospital bed, holding her hand, at one in the morning. He's half asleep, but his sleeping schedule is so messed up lately, he isn't sure if he's ever fully sleep. He squeezes Anna's hand, more of a half-conscious twitch than anything. 

But then Anna squeezes his hand back. 

Castiel sits upright immediately, careful not to move his hand. This has happened before, and it turned out just to be his imagination, but he gets excited every time. 

"Anna?" Castiel says hopefully. 

Anna moans quietly. 

"Anna?" Castiel repeats, more enthusiastically. This much hasn't happened before, but he's also never been so tired. He could be hallucinating.

But Anna's eyes flutter open, and he knows it's real. 

"Oh my god," Castiel whispers. "Anna?"

Anna looks around, only her eyes moving. 

"You're in the hospital," Castiel says. "Do you remember what happened?" No one mentioned anything about memory loss, but he wants to make sure. 

Anna hums, a nonverbal "yes."

"Are you okay?" Castiel asks. 

Anna pauses, then says quietly, "I don't know."

Castiel squeezes her hand, hoping it'll bring at least a little bit of reassurance. 

"How long have I been here?" Anna asks.

"Two weeks."

Anna's eyes widen at that. "Two weeks?"

Castiel nods. "Yeah. Um…" He shrugs helplessly. "Michael was here for the first few days, but, you know, work. But he was definitely rooting for you, just so you know I wasn't the only one here."

"What about you?" Anna asks. "Don't you have to work?"

He shakes his head. "I actually just quit. Today's technically my last day." He pauses, then amends, "Well, yesterday, as of an hour ago."

"Why?"

"Conflict of interest," Castiel says vaguely. Technically, he was pulled from the case for that reason — he can't hunt the guy who tried to kill his sister — but he really quit because this kind of broke him. He can't just go out and pretend that everything's normal after someone tried to kill his sister. "But enough about me. How are you?"

"I can't feel my body," Anna says. "Which I guess is good. I don't think I want to know what my body's supposed to feel like.

"Morphine works wonders," Castiel agrees. "I should probably call the nurses in, actually. They're supposed to be asking these questions."

"No," Anna says quickly, then whispers, "Please don't go."

"I won't, I swear," he says. "I'm just gonna hit the button on your remote, okay?"

He finally lets go of her hand to grab the TV remote, pressing the red call button to get the nurses' attention. 

"Can I help you?" a voice says over the intercom. 

All Castiel says is, "She's awake."

"I'll be right there."

Castiel puts the remote down, and this time, it's Anna who grabs his hand.

"So, physically you're fine," Castiel says. "How's the rest of you doing?"

Anna gives him a half smile. "Fine."

Castiel raises an eyebrow skeptically, but he doesn't push it. He knows better than to push a victim to talk. It works better when they do it on their own time.

"Are you going to be okay if the nurse kicks me out?"

Anna pauses, then says quietly, "Please don't leave."

"Okay," Castiel says. "I'll see if I can stay." Because he'll be damned if he's leaving her alone again.


	24. Chapter 24

If Dean is having a midlife crisis at 27, it doesn't bode well for his lifespan. 

After that call with Castiel, he stops killing people. It's not a permanent change — probably — but he finds that he really wants a break. He's still mulling over that conversation a week later, trying to make sense of everything. He still feels bad about what happened to Anna. He never would have expected that he could accidentally find another Novak, out of the millions of people in the country. 

But it's more than that. Castiel said that this happens every time he kills someone. Every time, there's someone else out there just like Castiel is now. There's something about it that irks him. He doesn't really like people, but he hates knowing Cas is like this more. It seems like a worse fate than death. He's not sure he wants to put anyone through that. 

But killing people is what he does. How did he get out of that?


	25. Chapter 25

The first few times Michael visits his sister, he's like any good brother — worried, loving, the whole nine yards.

The fourth time he visits his sister, he's with a flock of other agents, and it's all business. 

Well, mostly. 

"Hey, Anna," Michael says quietly, giving her a brief hug. 

"Hi," Anna says with a small, half-hearted smile. 

"Is it okay if they ask you a few questions?" Michael asks, pretending he hasn't already asked her, with full intentions of not letting anyone talk to her if she didn't want them to. Or, at least, that's what she told him, but Castiel had reluctantly given the two some space during his visit. 

"Do you want me to leave?" Castiel asks. He's not sure how much he's allowed to know now that he's out of a job.

"No, you're all set," Michael says quickly, before the agents who took over his job can complain. 

Castiel fights back a frown. He was expecting Michael to give him the go-ahead. He really doesn't want to talk about the guy, it even listen to them talk about him. Hopefully, if all goes well, they'll ask two or three questions, ignore Castiel completely, and be gone in five minutes, tops. There can't be much for Anna to tell them, anyway. 

"What do you know about the Bloody Valentine already?" one of the agents — Bela Talbot, maybe? — asks. "Before then."

Anna shrugs, then winces at the movement. "I don't know. He kills people. That's about it."

"Nothing else?" she insists. 

"Michael and Castiel didn't exactly chat about it at Thanksgiving dinners, if that's what you're wondering."

"Of course not," the other agent, Crowley, says quickly, shooting Bela a glare. "They wouldn't do that."

"Of course," she deadpans. 

"Can you tell us what happened?" Crowley asks. 

"Um…" Anna pauses, then says, "Well, he knocked on my door, and I answered it, obviously, and he said he was new to the neighborhood and he needed to borrow some sugar."

Bela looks at her partner and sys quietly, "Well, now we know where the bag of sugar came from."

"Well, I gave him some, and he pulled out a knife and he…" Anna trails off, fiddling with her hands in her lap. 

"And you're still alive," Bela points out. "That's never happened before."

"I was lucky, I guess," Anna says. "Or…" She pauses, thinking, and realization dawns on her face. "No, he called 911 for me. He didn't want me to die."

"Why would he do that?" Castiel asks before he can stop himself. Seeing the glares him Bela and Crowley, Castiel quickly averts his gaze. 

"I don't know," Anna says. "I… No, wait, I do know. Kinda."

Castiel cocks his head to the side, more interested than he'd like to admit. 

"I have pictures on my bookshelf. He recognized you."

Castiel gapes at her. "He recognized me? Like, me me?"

Anna nods. "Yeah, I think. I'm pretty sure I heard him say your name."

"Well, that's… creepy," Castiel says, but if he's being honest, that's what saved his sister's life. He really can't complain about it. 

"Can you let us do this?" Crowley asks, exasperated. "It's not your job anymore "

Castiel puts his hands up in a half-assed surrender. 

"What do you remember about him?" Bela asks. 

"He was tall," Anna says. "He, um… he seemed really nice — you know, at first, obviously. He… Oh, he said his name was Dean. Does that help?"

"He would have given you a fake name," Bela says. "But thanks for trying."

Castiel raises an eyebrow. What would he get out of giving her a fake name? He was just going to kill her, anyway. It didn't matter what she knew his name or not.

But god knows they won't want to hear it. 

"Is that it?" Crowley asks. 

Anna nods. "Yeah, pretty much. I'm sorry."

Though Crowley and Bela assure her it's okay, as they walk away, Bela mutters, "Well, that was useless."

Anna sighs and lies back down in her hospital bed. "I'm sorry. That didn't help at all."

"It did help," Michael says. "Anything helps. Just knowing that he's tall helps."

"Does it help to know he's, like, your height?" Anna asks. 

"Definitely," Michael says. "Do you remember hair color?"

"I remember he looked really put together," Anna says. "That's about it."

"You remember he looked put together, but not his hair color?" Michael repeats. 

Anna shrugs sheepishly. "He was kinda cute."

Michael sighs. "Anna."

"I thought he was just a new neighbor," Anna says. "I'm allowed to think my neighbors are cute."

Michael just shakes his head, but he almost looks amused at that. "Well, I have to go, but thank you. For everything. I'll be back as soon as I can."

"I know you will," Anna says with a small smile. "Go be important. I'll be here."


	26. Chapter 26

"Castiel?" Anna says quietly, after a long period of silence. 

Castiel looks up from his book. "Hmm?"

"How did he know what you looked like?"

Castiel doesn't have to ask what she's talking about. Michael and co. left hours ago, but Castiel suspected this would be coming soon.

"He saw me," Castiel says. "I almost caught him once, and he saw me."

"But you didn't catch him?" 

Castiel shakes his head. "I didn't even realize we were close until he told me."

"How did he tell you?" Anna asks, confused. "How do you chat with a serial killer?"

"I don't think I'm allowed to tell you any of this," Castiel says. 

Anna frowns. "The guy almost killed me, and I can't know anything about it?"

Castiel hesitates, then sighs. There she goes, making him guilty. That's what a good little sister does. 

"He wrote my name on a wall," he says, purposely omitting the part about it being in blood. "And he kept leaving phone numbers and asking to talk to me. So I did."

"You listened to a serial killer?" 

"There were extenuating circumstances," Castiel says vaguely. "He never tried to hurt me or anything. He said he liked me." The closest thing to a friend he's got.

"That's actually just as creepy as him not liking you," she says. "I guess it makes sense, though."

"What?"

"He tried to save me so you'd be happy," she says. 

"Yeah, that didn't really work," Castiel says. 

"But it's better than me being dead," Anna says. "I mean, I'd hope you'd rather I be in the hospital than in a grave."

"Well, yeah, obviously, but still," Castiel says. "I'm definitely not thrilled with him."

"But he tried," Anna says. "He saved me."

Castiel shakes his head at her. *I don't know what type of weird Stockholm syndrome thing you've got going on, but he tried to kill you. He doesn't get brownie points for anything." And, if all goes well, Castiel won't ever see him to give him any, anyway.


	27. Chapter 27

Dean's existential crisis doesn't last long. 

In a week, he's already killed three more people.


	28. Chapter 28

Castiel doesn't go back to the FBI, but he doesn't give up helping people. He's been doing it too damn long for that. Instead, he joins the local law enforcement of a small town in northern New Hampshire. Not much happens up there — no murders, which is a nice change. He can handle the occasional mugging or convenience store robbery, but after what happened to his sister, he'd rather not deal with death if he can avoid it. 

His co-workers are nice, too. They're pretty chill, mostly fulfilling the fat-older-men-who-love-donuts stereotype. Over the six months he's there, they really don't do much, and every time anything happens, Castiel is always sent out, because they know he can take care of it himself, and someone else just comes along for the ride. 

They don't quite get that luxury when they're called for a murder.

"Hell no."

"We ain't doin' that."

"Not a chance."

Castiel sighs. "I'm on it." Since god knows no one else will step up to the plate. 

"All of you," the police chief, Jody Mills, says. "There's a rumor that it's the Bloody Valentine, and for all we know, he may still be there."

Castiel feels all the blood drain from his body at the name. It's been almost a year since he's had to deal with him. Even after all this time, he's not sure he can handle that. 

"Maybe I should stay here?" Castiel says awkwardly. "Have someone to man the station, you know?"

Chief Mills scoffs. "Not a chance. Let's go."

Castiel's sure he could get out of it. All he has to do is say the guy tried to kill his sister. That would guilt trip even the best of police officers. But his past is also confidential, and though everyone knows he came from the FBI, no one can know about his involvement with the Bloody Valentine case. 

So he has to go.


	29. Chapter 29

"There's no sign of a break-in," Mills mutters under her breath.

"Ted Bundy could charm his way into anything," Castiel remarks. "Don't see why he'd be any different." He was able to charm his way into Anna's house, after all.

"Why bother? He doesn't strike me as the type to want to hang out," she says. 

Castiel can hear it in her tone that she's not thrilled with him questioning her. But he can't help it. This is what he does. 

"He might be," Castiel says. "Looting the house or something? Might as well treat it like he is."

Chief Mills eyes him for a moment, and Castiel isn't quite fond of the look on her face, but he can deal with making enemies if it means even a slight chance at catching this guy. That's what his whole career has been about. Looks like it's not stopping now. 

"Check the door," she says. 

"No, we need to surround the house," Castiel says. "He sees us, he'll run. He's not an amateur."

"Did I ask?" she says, exasperated.

"If you won't send anyone, I'll do it myself."

Castiel heads around the house at a quick jog. He can hear her calling after him, but when he sees movement at the back door, he officially decides Mills's opinions aren't important right now. 

"Someone's still here!" Castiel yells. 

"What?" Mills yells back. 

"He's here!" Castiel gestures for Jody to come closer.

Chief Mills glances around at the rest of the officers, then silently tells them to stay where they are before jogging after Castiel. 

"What the hell do you think you're doing, Novak?" she snaps. "You can't just make up whatever rules you —"

"You are more than welcome to yell at me later," Castiel says, "but right now, there's a potential serial killer right in front of our faces, and we have no freaking idea when reinforcements are coming."

"I don't even know if I believe he's in there," she says. "I have no idea what's gotten into you, but you're a cop, Novak. I know this is bigger than anything we've ever faced, but it's what we do."

"And not very well," he mutters under his breath. He's gonna have to talk to Michael about making sure every station is ready for this. No wonder they've never been able to catch him. The locals suck. 

"Listen to me," she says. "We don't have time to wait. We have to go in, now, before he decides to, I don't know, shoot us and run."

"He won't," he says. He's had at least one close run in with the cops — two if Anna counts. No one got shot then. Hell, he's never actually shot any victim before. They're safe. But how does he explain that to her? 

"You don't know that," she says. "Come on. We have to —"

Castiel cuts her off. "Dean!"

She slaps a hand over his mouth, hissing in his ear, "What the hell are you doing?"

Castiel pulls her arm off and waits. And waits. And waits. 

Nothing. 

"I know you're in there, Dean."

"Shut up," Chief Mills hisses. 

Castiel waits. And waits. And waits. 

Then the blinds move in the upstairs window, ever so slightly. Castiel wants to point it out, but he's sure it wouldn't be welcome. Serial killers don't like being pointed out. 

"I see you," Castiel says loudly. 

"What are you doing?" Chief Mills demands, and it's clear she doesn't believe him. 

There's a pause, then the blinds close again. Castiel sighs. That didn't go as planned. 

But then they're raised slightly, and the window opens a crack before the blinds fall back down. 

"You remember me, right?" Castiel asks, and he doesn't have to say it as loud now that the window is open.

"You know him?" Chief Mills says, confused. 

There's a pause, then, "I thought you quit."

She looks up at the house in surprise. "He's talking."

Castiel gestures to her to shut up, then takes a couple steps closer to the house so they can talk easier. "I did. I'm not with the FBI, I'm with the local police now."

"Why?"

"I didn't think I'd have to deal with you here," Castiel says, and it's true. That was his biggest motivation. 

"I'm sorry," he says. "About your sister."

"No, you're just sorry that you finally have to have consequences for your actions," Castiel says. "But I appreciate you leaving her alive. We learned a lot about you, Dean."

There's a long pause. Castiel clasps his hands behind her back, sort of nervous. Should he have kept that to himself? It seemed like a good idea the first time, trying to get his attention, but he might be losing that attention now. 

But then, he says, "No one's called me that in a long time."

"Probably because you kill everyone as soon as you tell them that's your name," Castiel says, mostly to piss him off a little. But it's true, and he does like killing people, so he may take pride in it. 

"Even Michael hasn't said it," Dean says. 

"They didn't think it was your real name," Castiel says. "But you wouldn't get anything out of lying about it."

"So they don't know," Dean says. "The only people who know are you and me."

Castiel glances at Mills, but decides against mentioning her. Wherever Dean's going with this, he's sure he doesn't want to drag her into it. 

"That's correct," Castiel says. 

"It's like our little secret."

Castiel raises an eyebrow. That's definitely not what he thought Dean meant. "I guess so, for now."

"So you're going to tell them?"

"I have to."

"That's kinda rude."

"You tried to kill my sister," Castiel reminds him. "You cost me my job. I had to give up everything to move to the middle of Nowhere, USA, because of you. I think I'm allowed to be 'kinda rude.'"

"I said I'm sorry," Dean says. 

"If you were sorry, you'd come out and let me take you in," Castiel says. 

"Then I'll meet you at the back door."

Castiel takes a step back instinctively, shocked. "Really?"

"If that's what it takes to prove I'm sorry, then yes."

Castiel nods slowly. "Then yes, we'll meet you at the back door."

An eye peeks between the blinds, and he says, "Not her. Just you and me."

"Fine."

"Novak," Chief Mills growls. "Don't you dare."

"Trust me," Castiel whispers. "Just be ready, in case he makes a run for it."

"I'm not worried about him running —"

"I'll be fine," Castiel interrupts. "And, if not? That's okay with me. This is my job."

She hesitates, then sighs. "I'll have my gun ready. You grab him the second he comes out, or I'm shooting."

Castiel nods once, then heads to the back door. He knocks, waiting, his hand on his gun just in case. 

"Dean?" Castiel says cautiously. 

The door swings open, and just as Castiel starts to reach for him, Dean pulls him inside and throws him on the floor, and Castiel slams his hands down quickly to stop himself from.smashing his face against the concrete. Castiel tries to climb to his feet, but within seconds, Dean is on top of him, sitting on his back and holding his arms down. Castiel keeps fighting him, trying to free himself, but he can't. 

"Stop!" Dean yells. "Stop it! Stop moving!"

Obviously, Castiel doesn't listen, because he values his life. 

Dean grabs both of Castiel's hands in one of his, and Castiel is sure he'll be able to use that to his advantage. He can't crane his neck enough to see what's happening, but he can feel Dean's free hand on his waist, and Castiel tries to wiggle away from him. Dean pulls his hand away, and Castiel realizes that he was just trying to get his gun. 

Well, this is it. He's locked in a house, lying under a serial killer who has his gun. And suddenly he realizes he wasn't as ready to die as he claimed. 

Dean throws the gun down the hall behind him, far out of both their reaches, before pinning Castiel's hands back down again. 

"Let go of me!" Castiel growls, trying to kick his legs free. 

"Stop it!" Dean says again. "Stop! Just listen to me! I'm not going to hurt you, I swear! I just want to talk!"

"Why do I have a very hard time believing that?" Castiel says. 

"If I wanted you dead, I wouldn't have thrown you gun across the house," Dean says. "Besides, killing you won't get me out of this mess. This is it. I've made my peace with it. I just wanna know what happens next."

Castiel stop trying to fight him, too shocked to move. That's not where he thought this was going.

"If I get off you, will you listen to what I have to say?" Dean asks. "I just want answers."

"Sure," Castiel says.

Dean climbs off him, and Castiel instantly turns around and stands up, ready to grab him. Dean pulls him back in the ground, leaving Castiel facing the ceiling this time, and sits on his legs, holding his arms down by the wrists.

As Castiel makes his peace with the fact that he has no chance of getting out of here, he starts to calm down. When there's no point of fighting for his life — or at least his freedom — it's surprisingly easy to calm down. 

He finally gets his first real look at this man he's been searching for for years, and, in his calm state, he realizes one thing he never thought was possible.

The guy's actually really hot.

Castiel usually pictures serial killers as drug addicts or unhealthily skinny or hairy and unshaven and unkempt. This guy seems pretty healthy and fit, clean-shaven with a neat haircut. How someone in his career path manages to stay so put together, Castiel had no idea, but he's glad he does. At least his eyes will be happy, even if the rest of him is concerned that he's basically a hostage right now.

"Cas?" Dean says quietly, and it's only then that Castiel registers the nervous look on his face. He didn't think the guy knew how to be nervous. He's a lot more human than Castiel had pictures. 

"Hmm?" Castiel hums. 

"What's gonna happen to me?" Dean asks, which is definitely not what Castiel had expected. "Life in prison? Death penalty?"

"I have no idea," Castiel admits. "Something better than being on the run the rest of your life, at least."

"I guess," Dean says reluctantly. "Prison doesn't sound too bad. It'll be nice to finally have a home."

Castiel doesn't speak for a long moment, just studying him. For the longest time, he thought of this guy as some sadistic psychopath with no feelings, his only motivation to kill. But right now, Castiel can definitely see he was wrong. Dean definitely has feelings, and right now, he looks scared, but also almost relieved and hopeful. 

"Have you ever had a home?" Castiel asks slowly. 

"Not really," Dean says. "I grew up in cheap motels. I've never really stayed in one place very long. Is it fun? Does it get boring?"

Castiel feels a pang sympathy. Not to draw on stereotypes, but kids living in cheap motels don't usually have the greatest childhoods. That could explain a lot. The guy's almost definitely a sadistic psychopath, but this still explains a lot.

"It's nice," Castiel tells him. "A lot less stressful, I'd imagine."

Dean nods slowly. "Will I get to talk to people? Or at least see people? Or am I gonna be stuck in solitary confinement?"

"I don't know," Castiel admits. "I think if you cooperate and you prove you can get along with everyone, you might end up in a high security prison, but that's still better than solitary confinement."

"I guess," Dean says. 

"I can try to answer all your questions, if you want," Castiel says, "but do you think I could do it sitting up?"

Dean hesitates. "But then you could run away. You already tried it once."

"And I realized there's no point," Castiel says. "I'm sure there are people outside working on getting me out as we speak. Hell, I bet the SWAT's gonna get involved if they're not already. It'll honestly be easier to just stay here until they bust in."

"Really?"

"Mm-hmm."

Dean hesitates, then climbs off him, watching him warily. Castiel gives him a small, thankful smile — why he's thankful when Dean got him into this anyway, he'll never understand — and sits up, crossing his legs like a child. Dean eyes him for a second, then does the same. 

"I get a phone call, right?" Dean asks. 

Castiel nods. "Your constitutional right."

"What if I don't know his phone number?" Dean asks.

Castiel cocks his head to the side. "Do you know who you want to call?"

Dean just nods. 

"Can I ask who it is?" Castiel tries again. He didn't think a guy like this would have many friends. 

Dean hesitates, then shakes his head. 

"If you give me a name, I'm sure I can call in a favor from Michael, get you his number," Castiel says. 

"You would do that for me?"

Castiel shrugs. "Yeah, it won't cost me anything."

"But you don't like me," Dean says, confused. "I think?"

"I just want things to go smoothly," Castiel says. "You listen to me, and I'll do what I can to make things better for you. Sound like a deal?"

"Is there a catch?" Dean asks cautiously. 

Castiel shakes his head. "You've already decided to turn yourself in, right? So you've already done your part. You just gotta keep cooperating."

"Okay," Dean says. "And once they take me in?"

"You're gonna have to be a little more specific with your question," Castiel says. 

"Are you still going to be there?"

Castiel shakes his head. "I'm just a local cop now. This is as far as I go."

"Then can we just sit here for a while?" Dean asks. "One last conversation?"

Castiel raises an eyebrow. "I guess. Just wait until the SWAT team comes in?" At least, that's what he assuming will happen, but he's never been kidnapped by a serial killer while on duty before. He's not sure what exactly they do in this situation.

"Yeah," Dean says. 

There's a pause, and they sit together in a surprisingly comfortable silence. 

"So, what do you want to talk about?" Castiel asks. 

Dean shrugs. "I don't know. Anything."

Castiel nods slowly, trying to think of some conversation starter. "So… do you have any family?"

Dean hesitates, then nods. 

"What are they like?" Castiel asks. 

"Not 'they,'" Dean says. "Just my brother."

"Well, what's your brother like?" Castiel asks. 

Dean shrugs. "I don't really know. He ran off one day. Got a full ride to Stanford or something. I haven't spoken to him in years."

"Oh, that sucks," Castiel says sympathetically. He can't imagine not keeping in touch with his siblings. "Was he older than you?"

"Younger," Dean says.

"What was he like?" Castiel asks. "Back when you did talk to him?"

Dean shrugs. "Smart. Really smart. He was always gonna do great things. But he was always really nice, too. He didn't let it get to his head."

"He sounds great," Castiel says. 

"He was," Dean says, a small smile on his face. "I don't know what he's up to now, but I'm sure it's something cool. Everything he does is."

"Is that who you're going to call?" Castiel asks.

"I think he'll probably hang up the second he hears my voice, but yeah."

"Does he know what you're been up to?" 

Dean shakes his head. "I don't think I'm gonna tell him. I'm just gonna see if he'll talk to me, one last time."

"I hope so," Castiel says. But Dean's name and face are going to be all over the news pretty soon. Hopefully, his brother won't see any of that before he gets the phone call. 

"I don't think he'd come visit me if he knew," Dean says. "I don't think anyone would. That's gonna kinda suck."

"You can make new friends there," Castiel says. "People who will probably kinda understand, or at least not really care what you've done."

"Maybe," Dean says. "It won't be the same, but maybe."

"I hope it turns out okay," Castiel says, which surprises himself. He was willing to promise the guy whatever it took to make sure everything went smoothly on the authorities' end, but he finds himself wanting things to work out for Dean, too. 

"Thanks," Dean says quietly. "And it's nice to finally meet you, Cas. This is a lot nicer than talking on the phone."

Castiel smiles slightly. "Yeah, really. And, as much as I hate to admit it, it was nice to finally meet you, too."


	30. Chapter 30

"Oh my god, Castiel, are you okay?" Michael asks, and Castiel can only assume someone had him on speed dial to call him the second Castiel got out.

"Yeah, I'm fine," Castiel says. "He didn't try to hurt me. He just wanted to chat."

Michael scoffs. "He wanted to chat?"

"Yeah, I don't know. He's weird," Castiel says, but he doesn't mind it. He definitely minds the serial killer part, but the weirdness isn't so bad. 

"What did he want to chat about?" Michael asks. 

"Just what was gonna happen to him," Castiel says. "Oh, hey, I need a favor."

"Of course."

"When he tells you who he wants to spend his one phone call on, can you look up the number?" Castiel asks. "I promised I'd get it for him."

"I'm sorry, you want me to do him a favor?" Michael scoffs. "Not a chance in hell."

"But I told him —"

"Yeah, and lying's more than welcome here," Michael says. "That does not mean we have to follow through with it."

"But we made a deal," Castiel says, though he'd be fighting for this whether they did or not. "I get him the number, he cooperates. Easy interviews, no picking fights, the whole nine. He just wants one conversation."

Michael hesitates. "Who's he calling?"

"I don't know his name," Castiel says. He didn't seem overly eager to give it up. 

"Then how the hell —"

"If you ask, he'll tell you," Castiel interrupts calmly. "And I know it's his brother, which means we're gonna get a last name, too."

"And what if it's not his brother?" Michael asks. "What if it's someone who wants to break him out?"

"It's not," Castiel says. "It's his brother from Stanford that he hasn't talked to in years."

"Yeah, maybe that's what he said," Michael says, "but that doesn't make it true."

"If you had seen him when he said it, you'd understand." There was a level of emotion that can't be faked. The strange mix of worry and relief in his voice was all Castiel needed to hear. 

"I don't buy it," Michael says. 

"Just do it, please? For me?" Castiel asks. "Whatever else happens to him, I won't complain, but I've been following him for almost six years now. I deserve to do one thing."

Michael hesitates, then sighs. "Fine, but that's it. You don't get a say in anything else."

"Thank you," Castiel says. "Now I gotta go before Mills's head explodes." He glances over at her, pacing back and forth silently. "I think she has a lot of questions."

"And Mills is…?"

"Police chief," Castiel says. "I'll spill all the details for you later, 'kay?"

"I guess so," Michael says. "I happen to know a whole lot of people that at his wanna hear what happened."

"Join the club," Castiel says. "Oh, and Michael?"

"Hmm?"

"Tell Anna she's safe now."


	31. Chapter 31

"Oh my god, Castiel, are you okay?" Michael asks, and Castiel can only assume someone had him on speed dial to call him the second Castiel got out.

"Yeah, I'm fine," Castiel says. "He didn't try to hurt me. He just wanted to chat."

Michael scoffs. "He wanted to chat?"

"Yeah, I don't know. He's weird," Castiel says, but he doesn't mind it. He definitely minds the serial killer part, but the weirdness isn't so bad.

"What did he want to chat about?" Michael asks.

"Just what was gonna happen to him," Castiel says. "Oh, hey, I need a favor."

"Of course."

"When he tells you who he wants to spend his one phone call on, can you look up the number?" Castiel asks. "I promised I'd get it for him."

"I'm sorry, you want me to do him a favor?" Michael scoffs. "Not a chance in hell."

"But I told him —"

"Yeah, and lying's more than welcome here," Michael says. "That does not mean we have to follow through with it."

"But we made a deal," Castiel says, though he'd be fighting for this whether they did or not. "I get him the number, he cooperates. Easy interviews, no picking fights, the whole nine. He just wants one conversation."

Michael hesitates. "Who's he calling?"

"I don't know his name," Castiel says. He didn't seem overly eager to give it up.

"Then how the hell —"

"If you ask, he'll tell you," Castiel interrupts calmly. "And I know it's his brother, which means we're gonna get a last name, too."

"And what if it's not his brother?" Michael asks. "What if it's someone who wants to break him out?"

"It's not," Castiel says. "It's his brother from Stanford that he hasn't talked to in years."

"Yeah, maybe that's what he said," Michael says, "but that doesn't make it true."

"If you had seen him when he said it, you'd understand." There was a level of emotion that can't be faked. The strange mix of worry and relief in his voice was all Castiel needed to hear.

"I don't buy it," Michael says.

"Just do it, please? For me?" Castiel asks. "Whatever else happens to him, I won't complain, but I've been following him for almost six years now. I deserve to do one thing."

Michael hesitates, then sighs. "Fine, but that's it. You don't get a say in anything else."

"Thank you," Castiel says. "Now I gotta go before Mills's head explodes." He glances over at her, pacing back and forth silently. "I think she has a lot of questions."

"And Mills is…?"

"Police chief," Castiel says. "I'll spill all the details for you later, 'kay?"

"I guess so," Michael says. "I happen to know a whole lot of people that at his wanna hear what happened."

"Join the club," Castiel says. "Oh, and Michael?"

"Hmm?"

"Tell Anna she's safe now."


	32. Chapter 32

Dean pauses, his hand hovering over the call button. This is it. One more button, and he's on his way to talk to his brother. That's the one connection he still has. This is the one person he can still talk to. 

And that's why he doesn't want to do it. 

What if he says something stupid? What if he fucks it up? What if he already knows what Dean's done? So many things could go wrong right now. 

But it could also go right. 

Dean presses the button. 

Ring. 

Ring. 

Ring. 

Ring. 

Ring. 

"Hello?"

Dean takes a deep breath. "Hey, Sammy."

There's a pause on the other end, then, "Who is this?"

He hadn't planned for that. This is what happens when you don't take to someone for six years, apparently. 

"It's Dean."

There's another pause, and this time, it last even longer than before. It almost seems like there's not going to be an answer when he hears, "How did you get this number?"

"That's, uh…" Dean chuckles awkwardly. "That's really complicated."

"Well, I'm very interested in what complicated way you got my number," Sam says, not sounding too happy with him. Dean probably deserves it. 

"I asked a friend," Dean says vaguely. Castiel counts as a friend, right? 

"Who do you know that has my number?" Sam asks. "And how did you know they had my number? Are you, like, hanging around Stanford asking about me?"

"I told you, it's complicated," Dean says. "You're still at Stanford? I thought your four years were over by now."

"I'm in law school now," Sam says. "Why do you care?"

"I'm just interested," Dean says, and he means it. It's been so long. He just wants to know what his brother's been up to lately.

"Dean, we haven't talked in six years," Sam says. "I have a hard time believing you're suddenly interested in what I'm doing."

"But I am," Dean insists. 

"What do you want, Dean?" Sam asks. "I'm not giving you any money, if that's what you're thinking."

"No, I know," Dean says. 

"And I'm not bailing you out of jail, or giving you a ride, or —"

"I know," Dean interupts. "I'm not asking for a favor, just a conversation."

"Yeah, I don't think so," Sam says. "Look, these last six years have been the best six years of my life. I'm sorry, but I know that associating with you is not going to help that."

"Sam —"

"Goodbye, Dean."

Click.

Dean just stares at the wall, still holding the phone to his ear. He knew he and Sam weren't neccesarily on the best of terms, but he thought they'd at least be able to talk. After all, Dean wasn't the one who scared Sam away; that was their dad. Dean just stood there and listened. Why would Sam take that out on him?

Or maybe it's not about that. Maybe he just doesn't like Dean as a person. That would make sense. Dean hasn't exactly been the most upstanding citizen, and he's definitely not winning any Brother of the Year awards.

"Well," Dean says as he puts the phone down. "That sucked." He turns around to face the officers, who have all been watching him uncomfortably closely. "But the show must go on."


	33. Epilogue

Dean follows the guard anxiously through the building. He has a mental map of most of the prison from the three years he's been here, but this is all new. He's never had a visitor before. He's not sure what to expect — or who. He may have made friends with the other inmates, and he shares jokes with a couple guards, but everyone outside the prison hates him. He's made his peace with it. He'll never see them again, anyway. 

Dean takes a seat behind the thick partition separating him from the visitors. In a place like this, they don't expect the inmates to cooperate, even with their own visitors. There are some pretty shady people here, so it's not surprising. 

Dean clasps his hands on the small desk in front of him, waiting anxiously to see who sits down. He didn't think he'd make it here before his guest, but here he is.

And then someone sits down in front of him, an almost nervous smile on his face. He picks up the phone, but Dean is too shocked to do the same on his end. 

Castiel. 

Castiel came.

Castiel mouths something, then taps his phone. After a pause, Dean picks his up and puts it to his ear. 

"Hi," Dean says cautiously.

"Hey," Castiel says. "It's been a while."

Dean chuckles half-heartedly. "Yeah, really." He glances around, almost expecting to see more agents there, but it just seems to be Castiel. "What are you doing here?"

"I was in the area, figured I'd drop by," Castiel says. 

Dean raises an eyebrow. "You made an impulse trip to visit a high security prison?"

"Okay, no, I've been fighting with my brother for the last three years, and I finally earned a trip," Castiel admits. 

"You actually wanted to come see me?" Dean says in surprise. "Even after everything?"

Castiel shrugs. "I was listening to the inside scoop from Michael. He said you were getting along with everyone, cooperating, the whole nine yards."

Dean shrugs. "Yeah, you know, you got me my phone call, so I figured I should probably hold up my end of the deal."

"Michael said that phone call didn't go very well," Castiel says. 

"Not at all," Dean says. "But I still got to make it. So thanks."

"Of course," Castiel says. "So, how's prison? Everything you ever dreamed of?"

"I've got a roof over my head and food every day," Dean says. "It's honestly not too bad."

"Well, that's nice," Castiel says, and he really and to mean it. 

"What about you?" Dean asks. "Are you still just a lowly cop?"

"No, I gave that up a couple months after they caught you," Castiel says. "I went back to the FBI, and I forgot how easy it was to find normal people."

Dean can't help but smile. "I know, I really did make things interesting, huh?"

"More than I care to admit," Castiel says with a small smile. "And I figured I should come pay my respects to the man who made my job so interesting."

"Oh, Cas, I'm honored," Dean says teasingly. "You know, you're my first ever visitor."

"Really? I thought you'd have friends lining up at the door," Castiel jokes. 

"I know, is so surprising," Dean says. "I just want you to know that I wouldn't have it any other way."


End file.
